Pillowtalk
by fengbi
Summary: America usually got along with his president just fine. But getting arrested for starting an impromptu riot at 3am was definitely pushing the limits.
Barack Obama had a wonderful relationship with his nation, one of the best in modern history.

But sometimes, there was nothing he would love more than to smother his own nation with a pillow.

Today was one of those days.

When England had arrived earlier that week, Obama was thrilled. With America's beau around, surely Obama's nation would act on his best behaviour to impress his lover, right? _Right?_

For the most part, America had been on his best behaviour, save for a minor mishap with Tony and a rogue squirrel in the oval office. But England had handled that situation without any major damage so Obama let it slide.

But really, thinking America could go the entire length of England's visit without getting into some sort of trouble was wishful thinking.

It was 3:30 AM on a Saturday morning when Obama's private line went off, ripping him out of a well needed, and well deserved rest. The number flashing was America's private line, and a feeling of dread sank to the pit of the President of the United States' stomach. Rarely did anything good come out of early morning/late night calls, and never when they came from his nation.

Obama answered the phone, weariness and irritation dripping from his voice, "Yes America? What have you broken now?"

The voice that responded was deeper, richer, serious, and most certainly did not belong to America. "Er, I apologize, Mr. President, for calling at such a time," England said in a tone not unlike that of Obama's. "Unfortunately, I was awoken by a phone call from America just now."

Obama sighed, pressing down on the corners of his eyes. "What has my country done this time?"

"To be completely honest with you Mr. President, I'm not entirely sure but I believe it involved a mass protest of some sort. Whatever it was, America has landed himself in jail and you should probably expect a call from the District of Columbia Chief of Police shortly."

Groaning audibly, Obama pushed himself into a sitting position and swung his legs over the bed of his bed. "Surely America hasn't done something that bad? What kind of trouble could he possibly get into at this time?"

Through the speaker, Obama could hear movement. England must have been getting dressed. "Whatever he did, it was bad enough that they're keeping him handcuffed. Of course, bloody idiot denied it but I could hear the chains through the line when he phoned."

If this had been seven years earlier, President Obama may have cried a little bit, but at this point he was well used to the antics of his nation. "Very well. I suppose you'll be coming along to bail America out of jail?"

"Yes, I'll be meeting you at the station."

Shortly after he ended his call with England, Obama's work phone went off. As England had anticipated, the number belonged to the Chief of Police in the capital.

"Hello, you have reached Barack Obama, the President of the United States of America." Behind him, his wife was beginning to stir.

"Mr. President, I believe we have an acquaintance of yours in custody. His driver's license lists his name as Alfred Fitzgerald Jones, five foot nine inches in height, and his birthday as July 4, 1997."

This was not the first time the Chief of Police had said those words to Obama, and it was unlike this would be the last. There were still over eight months left to his term, more than enough time for Alfred to something stupidly illegal. One would think a three-hundred-something year old nation would learn a thing or two about his own laws by this point...

Sighing, Obama said, "Yes, I will arrive at the station shortly. An English acquaintance will be taking Mr. Jones with him." Obama hung up, wanting to deal with this situation as fast as possible so he could return for dreamland.

Michelle, now awake, was sitting up on the other side on the bed. "Everything alright?"

Moving to get dressed, Obama didn't look at his wife when he answered, "Our nation is an idiot."

Michelle Obama's sympathetic nod and understanding look said everything one needed to know about the United States of America.

* * *

Alfred usually had a lot of respect for his police officers, but sometimes he really, really despised them.

Right now was one of those moments.

Since the officers were really tired of him trying, and succeeding, at prying the bars of the cell open, they decided to deal with America by leaving him with his hands cuffed behind his back.

Sure, it was kind of America's own fault for starting a riot that consisted only of drunk minors who were done partying for the night and the odd drug dealer, and he really shouldn't have tried to escape since there was no doubt that he was guilty. Also, given his status as the living embodiment of the United States of America, he would've been bailed out soon enough anyway. And he would probably get several lectures from his President and England about property damage.

But sometimes he just had spur of the moment urges and didn't want to think too much about the consequences.

After all, you only live once.

"Dude! How long are you going to leave me here?" he asked for the nth time when a different officer walked past his cell.

The new officer was scrawny and young, fresh out of the police academy. "Uh, well I don't think we accept bail until 8?"

Messing with newbies was always so much fun. With a gaze that could melt steel, America asked, "you do realize that I am an important high ranking government official? What time will the President be getting here?"

America almost felt bad when the officer sprinted away from him.

* * *

Obama stood with England, waiting for an officer to lead America out. There were many situations when Obama had been surprised by England, such as the impromptu punk concert and the first time he walked into America's bedroom to ream out his nation, only to find two very naked nations sharing a bed. Needless to say, that was the last time Obama ever opened a door without knocking first.

But for some reason, England was especially put together in spite of the situation. It made Obama feel self-conscious in his polo and sweater.

"Out of curiosity," England said, breaking the silence, "you won't be needing America for anything of particular importance, will you?"

Obama looked down at England, brows furrowed. "No, just some meetings with Congress and paperwork."

England had a glint in his in eye that Obama found somewhat worrisome. "Lovely. Then you won't mind if I give him a, shall we say, lecture on early morning etiquette."

Obama chose not to dignify that with a response. The less said about America and England's relationship, the better.

At the moment, a door swung open, revealing America and an officer. After the officer released America's wrists from their metal bracelets, Obama watched his nation immediately tackle England.

When America bounced out the door, Obama began listing all the favours America owed him.

With his term coming to an end, it was time for America to begin to pay back all the troubles and headaches he caused his boss.

The first step would be smothering America with a pillow.

Before he followed America out the door, Obama asked an officer one last question. "What, exactly, was the riot for?"

The officer simply shook his head.

"Believe me, Mr, President, you'd rather not know."

* * *

 **Ahhhhhh idek anymore.**

 **IB has fried my brain.**


End file.
